


My Lady's House

by detailsinthefabric



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Master/Servant, Opposites Attract
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detailsinthefabric/pseuds/detailsinthefabric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has been the Lady Morgana's butler for many years, and would serve no other. When Prince Arthur arrives one day with claims of being Morgana's long-lost brother, Merlin's structured life is thrown off-kilter by the odd relationship that develops between himself and the prince. Arthur, meanwhile, struggles to forge ties between Morgana and his father, and cannot understand why he is becoming so attached to this rather hopeless servant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Lady's House

**Author's Note:**

> Victorian Era Merlin/Arthur is pretty much my favourite thing in the entire world. The fan art! I can't.
> 
> Although I love the master/servant relationship between Merlin and Arthur (in the show and out), I always wondered what it would be like if Merlin didn't work for Arthur, but someone else. Would they still hang out nearly as much? Wouldn't Arthur be so impatient, having to share Merlin-time with another person? I don't know. I also just really love Morgana.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for checking this out! There are explanations of some of the Victorian aspects of the fic at the end, if you are interested or confused (which I was, often). 
> 
> This is also based off the song "My Lady's House" by Iron & Wine, which I just _worship_.

The evening before Prince Arthur’s sudden arrival was as uneventful and peaceful as most of Merlin’s evenings since he came to work in Maison du Fay. He spent the day discussing meal plans with Lancelot, sorting out furniture and the appropriate locations of the newest imported paintings with Morgause, and trying to help Gwen complete as many of her daily tasks as possible. And of course, he spent a good hour discussing with Morgana her schedule for the month, what dresses needed replacing or mending, trying to stress the importance of the events that especially disinterested her.

Lady Morgana was generally a delight for Merlin to work for; he enjoyed the things she had to say, her kindness and her curiosity in all things, her drive to achieve things she was truly passionate about. But with such passion came changes in mood, and today was one of Morgana’s especially bad moods.

“Oh, Merlin, what does it _matter_ if the lace has come loose on my pink satin dress? I fail to see the significance of this discussion.” His lady was sprawled across her favourite green velvet settee imported just last month from Baghdad. Merlin had known Morgana would love it from the moment he saw it in the shop.

“Morgana, reputation is represented by fashion.” Merlin was sorry to say the words as soon as they left his mouth. He knew he sounded like a snob. “Keeping up appearances is important to the nobility, although I’m sorry to inform you of this.”

Morgana still refused to move, let out the most unladylike snort. “Oh, Merlin, can’t this wait? Can’t you see I’m exhausted?”

Merlin _could_ see that. Morgana was still in her morning gown, her long, ebony hair spread out in loose curls over the cushion she rested her head on. There was no trace of makeup or concern over her appearance, the skin around her eyes dark—Morgana was naturally gorgeous, but even she could not go out like this.

Merlin gave a half-bow, having dropped being overly formal years ago, and left her silently to her thoughts. He wondered what had troubled Morgana so much that she was unwilling to speak with even him. Morgana often got terrible nightmares and resulting migraines, but she had not asked Merlin for medicine or comfort. She only wished to curl up in her chambers and not socialize.

Merlin walked down the walnut and bronze staircase, trying not to let it bother him. Even though he felt like he knew Morgana more profoundly than anyone, she still had lapses that confounded even him. Perhaps it was just one of those times.

The house was quiet in respect, although Merlin did see the kitchen maid, Sefa, scampering past him with an armful of groceries. She let out a nervous squeak when she saw him, bowed too deeply and almost lost three oranges, and then bounded back into the kitchen. Merlin, with nothing left to do for the day, followed after her.

Sefa was haphazardly packing away food while Lancelot stood talking distractedly to Gwen over the counter as they both washed pots and pans. They were in their quiet whisper mode, the one that suggested that if they spoke any louder, they may have trouble with Morgana. Gossip.

“Gwen,” interrupted Merlin when he still went unnoticed, “what are you doing in the kitchens?”

Gwen was Morgana’s personal maid. She usually stayed with her all day performing all sorts of tasks, sleeping in the attached quarters to hers in case she needed anything at all night. Merlin already knew why Gwen was not with Morgana in her chambers, but he wanted to be included in the conversation.

“Oh, Merlin!” Gwen and Lancelot turned their matching, sunny smiles on him. Gwen’s faded a little as she considered Merlin’s question. “Morgana dismissed me for the day. She’s feeling quite glum. Surely you’ve noticed?”

“I have. And I’m supposing you know the reason why.” Gwen read and replied to all of Morgana’s letters, a privilege even Merlin himself did not have.

“Well.” Gwen hesitated for only a second before she leaned against the counter. Lancelot, who was still busily scrubbing a copper pot, leaned in too. Sefa, on the other side of the room, pretended not to listen. “I was just telling Lancelot this, but…I suspect it has something to do with her… _familial connections_.”

Merlin gasped before he could stop himself. “You’re lying!”

“Never!” The staff took turns shushing each other before they resumed muted conversation. Gwen took a deep breath in and continued, “I know it’s all a very mysterious business. But Merlin, it’s for certain! Our suspicions about Morgana have proven true…despite her reservations and her background with Lord Gorlois, she is indeed of royal birth!”

Merlin sat down on a kitchen stool, his mind whirring. Morgana’s roots had always been a mystery, even to her; although she was raised in the Le Fay household and inherited their properties after their unfortunate passing, her birth was immersed in rumours. She looked nothing like Lord Gorlois, for one; and secondly, he had been supposedly away on business when Morgana’s mother, Lady Vivienne, held an event that branches of the royal family had attended, and Morgana had been conceived. This was all merely gossip, but something about Morgana’s basic behaviour, education, and strong leadership skills did mimic that of Queen Victoria, and put her above low-class nobility. To Merlin, she had always seemed regal beyond compare, and now it was being confirmed.

“ _Who_?” he asked finally, and Gwen understood the question immediately. They had been working together for so long, cues were hardly needed.

“I fear you will not believe me,” she said, her caramel eyes dancing with excitement, “but she recently received a letter from Uther Pendragon, the Queen’s own cousin!”

Merlin almost fainted.

“Morgana may be a Pendragon? The ruling family of Wales?” Yes, he was definitely feeling quite feverish. “But wouldn’t that make her a…” He trailed off, not wanting to degrade his lady with foul words.

“A bastard?” Lancelot finished for him, and Merlin scolded him for it, despite his innocent tone and likely well-meaning intentions.

“Poor thing. Finding out one’s roots this way must be so hard! No wonder she’s locked away in her room.” Gwen put a hand to her face and sighed with great sympathy as Merlin’s thoughts sped faster than he ever thought possible.

“The best thing for us to do now is give her some time,” said Lancelot reasonably. “She will be able to work this out on her own, I am perfectly sure of it.”

Lancelot was the household chef and was renowned in London and beyond for his duck dishes and his exploration into foreign foods. He was easily the nicest man this side of the English Channel, and despite his lack of proper education, was as clever as they came.

“You’re right, of course,” agreed Merlin, although his forehead felt like it would be permanently creased with worry. “Let us just keep on top of our tasks, shall we? When Morgana wishes for our company, she will call on us.”

Gwen and Lancelot nodded most seriously, and Sefa inclined her head in another almost-bow. Merlin strode out of the room with all the dignity required of his position, and decided to venture to the shops to find something that may raise Morgana’s spirits.

~*~

Merlin was head butler of Maison du Fay, and it was almost unheard of for someone his age. Perhaps he was not the oldest or most experienced in the act of service, but Morgana constantly complimented him for his wisdom and intuition. He never took his high position for granted, and knew he was incredibly fortunate, considering where he had started. And as far as caring for his mistress, he had nothing but admiration for Morgana. They were closer than he had ever imagined being to an employer, and he had begun to see the other workers as family.

Merlin was very comfortable, right where he was. He did not—and could not—imagine any other life for himself other than servicing Morgana and overlooking the ins and outs of the noble household.

These sentiments were expelled with the entrance of Prince Arthur into his life.

~*~

It had started with Morgana’s hesitant calling for Merlin when he was just starting to prepare for bed. Merlin carried the kerosene lamp down the halls to carefully climb the staircase. Everyone else was already sleeping—Merlin was usually the last to go to bed, wanting to look over everything, make sure the day’s tasks were completed, and that tomorrow’s schedule was all in order. Morgana knew this about him, which is why their most intimate conversations took place at night.

Merlin knocked gently at her door. He didn’t usually, but during the nighttime, you could never be too careful. Morgana _was_ still a noblewoman, after all.

“Come in,” Morgana called, and halfway through Merlin had already opened the door.

Morgana had braided her hair and changed sleepwear, had already probably deposited her worn gown for Gwen to launder in the morning. She was looking better than earlier that day, but still haunted by her ever-worrying mind. Merlin stopped, crossed his hands behind his back, and said nothing, knowing Morgana would take the cue to speak first.

“Oh, Merlin.” Suddenly, Morgana looked close to tears. “I have something of the direst importance to tell you, but I fear you will be angry with me.”

Merlin’s entire disposition softened, and it showed in his form as his hands fell to his sides.

“I could never be angry with you, Morgana,” he assured her, and meant every word.

“You say that now,” Morgana said with a bitter laugh, and she turned away from him, closed her eyes. “Prince Arthur is coming tomorrow.”

At first, Merlin thought he had misheard.

“Pardon?” he asked, and he was already chuckling at how much his hearing must have botched her words. “I thought you said Prince Arthur Pendragon, Duke of Connaught, is coming tomorrow.”

Morgana’s blue-green eyes flickered guiltily at him. “Yes. I did say that.”

Merlin paused, and the world seemed to still. When it restarted too quickly, he found himself saying, “He’s coming _here_?”

“Yes.”

“ _Tomorrow_?”

“Yes.”

“Morgana!”

“I know, I know!” Morgana moaned and clutched her head. “I’m so sorry! I know how you like to plan things ahead, and I know we’ve never catered to royalty before. Oh, but Merlin, this comes as big a surprise to me as it does you, I assure you! Uther just informed me yesterday that his son will be staying with us for a week or so.”

“Whatever for?” Merlin was so stunned and overwhelmed by the impossible list of things he had to achieve in one night he couldn’t wrap his mind around anything.

“I believe he wishes to…” She sighed, and when she looked up to meet Merlin’s eyes, her expression was full of disgust, “ _investigate_ me.”

Merlin nodded slowly in understanding. “Ensure you’re not a threat to his reputation.”

“Exactly.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the settee. Merlin tried not to make his exasperation too obvious.

“Regardless, Morgana, we simply do not have the resources to give a royal welcome,” he said finally, afraid of the reproach he rarely received.

“So? Did I say that you must prepare one?” Morgana’s fierce energy had suddenly returned to her, and she sat up with fire burning in her eyes. “I don’t give a care about these people! They are not my _family_. Mother and Father are, and always have been, my true family! All Uther wants is my status, my wealth, and my ability to keep my mouth shut. Let Arthur _starve_ for all I care! On such short notice, it is what he deserves.” Fuming, Morgana crossed her arms and silently dared Merlin to argue.

Merlin knew he could not and was not expected to treat the prince in such a way, but arguing with Morgana when she had worked herself into such a fury was meaningless. He simply nodded, bowed his head, and said, “As you wish, my lady,” and turned to leave.

“Merlin.” At the soft tone, Merlin turned around again to look at Morgana, who looked as lost as he’d ever seen her. “I truly am sorry.”

He smiled comfortingly at her. “It’s not your fault, Morgana. Sleep well.”

“And you,” she responded as Merlin shut the door quietly behind him, and immediately started making rushed preparations for the morning.

~*~

It was a rather lackadaisical affair, but by the time Prince Arthur arrived midmorning, Merlin had tea waiting, the nicest guest room in the house even more impressively decorated than before, two maids and one footman setting aside their usual tasks to care specifically for the prince, and the entire staff assembled outside on the steps in welcome.

“Oh, Merlin, what a lovely job you’ve done!” congratulated Gwen as she quickly got into position beside him.

“Thank you. Where is Morgana?” he asked, disconcerted by the absence. Prince Arthur was bound to take offense if he was not greeted by the lady herself.

“She said she’s taking a minute to straighten up, but I think it’s just nerves.” Gwen tutted sympathetically, her expression clouded over. “This prince better be kind to her or I’ll really be angry!”

Merlin smiled despite his stress and fatigue. Gwen was the sweetest girl he’d ever met, and likely ever would meet. She never spoke badly of anyone, which is why Morgana held her so close and with such faith.

“I’m certain everything will go quite smoothly,” Merlin replied, forcing more confidence into his voice than what he truly possessed. “In any case, it is only for the week.”

“Yes, of course,” Gwen agreed, a crease of worry still on her brow, and Merlin knew he had not fooled anyone.

The carriage that pulled up through the gates was the nicest Merlin had ever seen. The horses were all black and groomed so well they were gleaming, the car shiny and black to match. The driver was dapperly dressed in clothes finer than Merlin’s best, the wagon covered over for privacy.

Merlin felt a tremor go through him. He hadn’t felt so nervous for years. The all-black party was, no matter how he looked at it, an ill omen.

Where was Morgana?

Lancelot at the bottom of the steps raised an eyebrow at Gwen and Merlin. Gwen shrugged in reply as Merlin tried to keep his expression as professional as possible. If Morgana did not make her appearance, it would be his task to personally accustom the prince to Maison du Fay.

The driver got down. He was easily twice Merlin’s age and had long, black hair that brushed his shoulders. He looked over them all with an unimpressed gaze before announcing, “Presenting Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught!”

As the prince exited the carriage, Merlin’s heart dropped into his stomach. There was no question that Morgana and Arthur Pendragon were related; they had the same heart-shaped face, the wide, expressive eyes. Arthur was fair-haired and tanned where Morgana was dark and pale, yet, one could easily see how they were siblings, with their similar bone structures and Cupid’s bow lips.

Merlin was also not surprised that the prince was a gorgeous individual. If you were related to Morgana, you must be. The prince had a stride filled with confidence, a long black waistcoat that hugged his waist and broad shoulders. His pleated, charcoal trousers showed the shape of his muscular thighs, a button-up white vest demonstrating his impressive upper physique. Everything about him seemed to upstage Merlin’s own appearance. Even though Merlin had given them strict orders for ultimate professionalism, the maids were a-twitter.

“Welcome to Maison du Fay, Your Highness,” Merlin greeted, bowing low in a straight-backed posture reserved only for Very Important People.

The prince was unmoved by the demonstration. “Where is the Lady Morgana? I must speak to her at once.”

Merlin was immediately annoyed by his rudeness. He knew he should be impassive, but his frown was inescapable. “Morgana has fallen quite ill,” he lied easily. “It is very unfortunate, but she is resting inside. You may see her in a moment, of course.”

“That’s quite bold of you, referencing your lady by first name,” said Arthur, one golden eyebrow arching toward his hairline. “Back at my home, servants know their place.”

Merlin flushed from his toes to the tips of his ears, half-embarrassment, half-fury. He had never had someone insult him so coolly, completely indifferent to his reaction. It caused something red and not polite at all to boil inside of him.

“My _lady_ has had no complaints,” he spat, “and that is all that is of importance to me, _my lord_.”

The prince’s other eyebrow went up, and they glared at each other from the steps. Gwen coughed and shifted nervously beside Merlin, which snapped him out of his blood-curdling rage. A fair hand landed on his shoulder and stroked soothingly.

“That will be all, Merlin,” Morgana said, her voice tinkling with ladylike charm. “Good morning, Your Highness. Welcome to my home. Excuse my tardiness, I’ve been feeling quite faint as of late.”

Arthur’s eyes shifted slowly from Merlin to Morgana. A smile so forced it was almost painful made its way onto his face, and he put his top hat to his chest in a polite bow.

“Lady Morgana,” he said. “I am Prince Arthur. I do wish there was a less imposing way to introduce myself, but I am, for all intents and purposes, your half-brother.”

“I do not mind a whit. I am a great admirer of straightforwardness, my lord.” Morgana smiled back at him, and although Merlin knew it to be fake, it seemed twenty times more sincere than the prince’s almost grimace.

“Please, call me Arthur. This trip will be unbearable if you do not.” Arthur was meant to be joking, but something in his tone made the statement seem completely serious.

“Arthur,” Morgana corrected herself, and she made her way down the steps with easy grace. Arthur took her porcelain hand and kissed the back of it.

In the entranceway of the grand house in the cloudy daylight, Merlin had never been prouder of his lady. Despite her grievances, she was picture perfect and at her most charming. Merlin had told Gwen to specifically lay out her long-sleeved maroon dress with white lace and a high neck, an outfit that all at once proclaimed modesty and was just imposing enough for others to automatically pay their respects. Gwen had somehow turned the wild mess of last night’s grieving session into a coiled braid that ran halfway down her back. Morgana was the lady of the house and she looked the part, and Arthur was falling for it completely.

“Please, let us go inside, and I shall give you the tour.” Morgana’s smile did not fall even a little. She was completely absorbed in her role.

“Are you certain? I wouldn’t want you to press yourself while you’re ill.” Arthur almost seemed sincere about this.

“Oh, it’s just a mild fever. Hardly an issue.” As Merlin held open the solid oak door, Arthur met his eyes again as they passed. They were so blue up close, so curious, and so infuriating. If Merlin had half the amount of nerve he wished he did, he would’ve slammed the heavy door in his face. But, as it was, he simply crossed the other arm behind his back, and waited for the moment to pass.

~*~

As soon as the tour of the house was over, Arthur half-heartedly complimenting the décor every step of the way, Morgana stopped to show Arthur the guest room he would be staying in.

“I hope it is to your liking, Arthur,” she said, a forced smile covering the fact that she didn’t really care.

“Yes, this will do quite nicely. Thank you.” There was a long moment where no one knew what to say, the idle chatter having died, and Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur’s servant, Agravaine, stood around, not really looking at each other. Arthur cleared his throat and braved on, “I suppose you know why I am really here.”

Morgana paled. Merlin shifted uncomfortably. Arthur really _was_ more straightforward than most nobility these days, with their fancy words and hidden intentions, and something about that made him nervous.

“Uther, my father—” Arthur began, but Morgana cut him off with a shake of her head.

“Surely such discussions can wait until supper,” she said quickly, gathering her skirts to signal her exit. “I’m afraid I’m still not feeling my best. Please excuse the suddenness of my departure. If you have any inquiries or requests of any kind, please refer to Merlin, my butler.” Morgana placed her hand on Merlin’s shoulder once more in what was quickly becoming a nervous tic.

“ _Him_? _He’s_ your butler?” Arthur asked, his jaw hanging in a very un-princely manner. Merlin felt the first genuine smile he’d had in hours creeping across his face.

“Merlin is one of the best,” said Morgana simply. “He will take care of everything. Excuse me.” She left with a swish of her skirts, her lily perfume still lingering in the air after her.

Merlin glanced back over at Arthur, who was admonishing him from head-to-toe, and cleared his throat.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Your Highness?” he asked in a falsely sweet pitch.

“You are far too young to be a butler. You’re hardly a child,” Arthur snorted, and turned away to examine the view from the window. Agravaine looked at Merlin and snorted derisively to mirror his master. Merlin felt himself turning red again, and he ground his teeth together, struggling to maintain control.

“With all due respect, _my lord_ , I am in my mid-twenties, same as you. I would not consider either of us to be children.” Arthur pivoted to meet Merlin’s gaze, and held it. “I am honoured to be of service to the Lady Morgana, although the honour where you are concerned is far more questionable.”

Arthur was gaping at him again. “You dare speak to me in such a manner?”

“My life has been a hard one, my lord. Putting a highbrow prat in his place is hardly considered daring, by my books.” Merlin’s voice was cool, but his whole body was running hot. He knew that he should not be speaking to the prince, or any guest of Morgana’s, in this way, but he was powerless to Arthur’s provocations.

“How dare you call the prince a…a…by that name!” intervened Agravaine, his saggy face turning purple with rage.

“Enough, Agravaine.” Arthur considered Merlin again, and there was something about the way Arthur looked at him. Before, he was distant, as cool and distracted as if he were admiring a very boring painting, not a human being. Now, his gaze seemed to be acknowledging that Merlin had some substance. “Can you call the stable hand to prepare a horse for me? I would like to go for a ride.”

Merlin was surprised that Arthur had simply made a request of him instead of blowing his top, but it did not show on his face. He had returned to his work façade, and felt comfortable returning to what he knew.

“Shall I come with you, my lord? It could be dangerous, navigating an unknown area—” babbled Agravaine.

Arthur did not even turn to look at him. His gaze remained locked on Merlin, causing a strange feeling to crawl up Merlin’s spine. “Allow me to repeat myself. Please prepare a horse for _me_. _I_ would like to go for a ride. _Alone_. Is that understood?”

 _Prat_ , Merlin thought.

“Understood, sire,” Merlin said.

“Good. Thank you, uh…” Arthur tipped his head, examining Merlin like he would find his name written on his forehead.

“My name is Merlin, _my dearest lord_.” Perhaps it was the tone dripping with sarcasm, or perhaps it was the half-smile twisted with mirth, but whatever it was, Arthur was annoyed with Merlin again.

“ _Mer_ lin,” he said, twisting the first syllable into an ugly thing, making the quite fine name sound ridiculous. “ _Thank you_ for your perfectly awful service.”

“Thank _you_ for your perfectly awful personality,” replied Merlin with the largest grin he was capable of, just for the pleasure of hearing Arthur spluttering in disbelief behind him.

~*~

The stable was cool and shaded despite the damp summer heat, and Merlin often enjoyed lingering in there to visit not only the horses but also the stable hand, Will. Will was almost always complaining about one thing or another, but he enjoyed Merlin’s visits, and Merlin generally reciprocated the feeling.

Today was no exception to Will’s complaints.

“Oh, well, on top of all my other duties, now I have to care for His Royal Pain-in-the-Arse’s beasts,” was what Will said as soon as he saw Merlin walk in.

“The only beast living here is Prince Arthur himself,” Merlin replied easily, “and that’s my job, so don’t you dare complain.”

Will snorted and shook his head. “He must be really bad if he’s got _you_ spittin’ like that.”

“Oh, Will. You have no idea. He’s a horror.” Merlin stepped closer to his friend, tried to push Arthur out of his mind with a sigh. “Anyway, he wants to go for a ride. Prepare the best horse you have.”

“The best horses in this stable right now are the prince’s.” Will rolled his eyes dramatically. He hated anything royal. Although he had the same respect for Morgana that Merlin did, it took years to develop. The sudden appearance of royalty in the house had agitated him more than anyone, second only to Morgana, and perhaps Merlin.

“Aren’t they carriage horses?” Merlin felt himself drifting easily into his butler role. Arthur was hardly part of the equation; he was getting a task done. It felt good.

“One of those all-purpose breeds. Strong as oxen. Never seen the like. Wish I could see how fast they could go.” Will sighed, his dark eyes glazing over for a minute. It was somewhat of a torture for him, to care for the horses but never get to ride them.

“Sorry, Will. The prince wants to be _alone_.” It was Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes. “Anyway, aren’t they tired after the journey?”

“One’s restless as all hell, actually. Should be good for ’im to get some air.”

“Alright. Ready him and I’ll take him out to the prince.”

Will nodded wordlessly and disappeared into a back stable. Merlin allowed his shoulders to slump as soon as he was gone. Why was the day so long?

~*~

Merlin waited with Arthur’s horse just outside the steps. The animal was even handsomer up close, with its sleek black coat, braided mane, and tail trimmed short. It was actually very gentle and friendly and seemed to take a liking to Merlin, constantly snuffling at his hair and giving soft horse kisses to his open hand.

“If only your owner were more like you,” Merlin sighed, running his hand over the horse’s muzzle, and then found himself blushing at the idea of Arthur playing with his hair, kissing his hand. “I mean, not _exactly_ like you, of course, but…”

“Lovely creature, isn’t he?” Merlin’s heart jumped and his skin erupted into gooseflesh at the sound of the rich voice behind him. Merlin turned quickly to face Prince Arthur, who had changed into well-fitted riding clothes and was pulling on a pair of gloves. As usual, his ocean blue eyes were ridiculously catching to the eye, and Merlin could not look away. “German,” Arthur continued, and it took him putting a hand beside Merlin’s on the horse’s muzzle for Merlin to realize that he was talking about the horse still. “Ostfriesen. They’re very strong and well-mannered. I wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

“He does seem gentle,” Merlin agreed, releasing his hand from the muzzle, the close proximity to Arthur proving a little too much for him. The Ostfriesen immediately broke away from Arthur, demanding more attention from Merlin by nuzzling at his forehead. Merlin giggled at the tickling sensation and pushed it away.

“He likes you,” Arthur said, and when Merlin looked up to meet his eyes, the prince was smiling in the most dashing way, and suddenly Merlin could hear his own heartbeat, his cheeks growing hot. “I named him Excalibur. He’s my favourite of the lot.”

“Excalibur,” Merlin repeated, tasting the name. “Such a strange name. But it suits him somehow.”

Arthur was watching him. Merlin looked away, busied himself by pretending that Excalibur was the most interesting thing in the world. He wondered what had changed in Arthur in the mere minutes that they had been separated. It occurred to him that this was the first time that they had been alone together, free to carry out a conversation without someone listening in. Arthur seemed much more relaxed now, and, Merlin acknowledged, so did he.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, breaking the silence and surprising Merlin by remembering his name, “would you like to go for a ride with me?”

Merlin blinked, for a moment, almost certain he misheard. But when he realized he could not have in the silence of the courtyard, he found himself swallowing nervously at the idea.

“Didn’t you want to be alone, sire?” Merlin asked, and as soon as the word “sire” left his mouth, something in the air between them changed. The ease was gone, and replaced with the tension that always came with class difference.

“I’m a prince, _Mer_ lin. I’m allowed to change my mind.” Arthur looked slightly red in the face though, as if his invitation had been an embarrassing slip of the tongue.

Merlin quickly grew irate at Arthur’s return to cockiness and his obvious regret at inviting Merlin in the first place. “Thank you for your kind offer, but I’m afraid I must refuse. I must see to the Lady Morgana.”

“Yes,” Arthur said with a stiff nod. “Of course you do. A ride to myself is just what I need, in any case.”

“Of course it is, my lord,” Merlin replied, and then they were glaring at each other again, challenging the other to say one more word that would turn this into an actual quarrel. In the back of his mind, Merlin was enraged and shocked that he had the gall to refuse the request of a prince in the first place, but above all that, Merlin was glad he did. It would simply be terrible, having to spend any more time alone with Arthur than necessary.

Merlin silently helped Arthur into the saddle and watched as he drifted away along the forest trail. He watched until he couldn’t see Arthur any longer. But in his mind, Arthur was an unshakeable image, too persistent to ignore.

For a moment, it had almost seemed like they could be friends.

~*~

Dinner was an uncomfortable affair. Morgana barely ate and was not in the mood to interact, and although Arthur made some weak attempts at conversation at the start, he seemed to realize that it was fruitless. Merlin watched as the half-siblings pushed the peas around their plates in silence, more alike in their brooding than they knew.

Merlin’s stomach growled as he overlooked the dining table, despite his willing it not to. Supper would be later for him than usual. It had become somewhat of a ritual of Morgana’s to invite Merlin and Gwen to eat with her, friends for a moment instead of servants. Arthur had rudely interrupted this routine with merely his presence—it would be absolutely unseemly for a butler and a maid to eat with a prince.

Merlin glanced at Gwen across the room, hovering behind Morgana’s chair at the head of the table. Merlin was behind Arthur’s, refilling his wine cup whenever it came close to emptiness, which was often. Gwen had agreed with Merlin that, despite the lowly role of overseeing dinner—which was usually the kitchen maids’ job—it would be better for them to stay close to Morgana, especially when Arthur was around. Despite the layer of confidence Morgana had painted on this morning when she met Arthur, she appeared to have reached her limit at around midday, and had become pale and sullen.

Dessert was being brought out when Arthur finally built up the nerve to say, “Morgana, you said we could discuss the matter of my—or should I say _our_ —father at dinner, and I would like to.”

Merlin winced at the prince’s typical straightforwardness. Morgana sagged a little in her chair, the slightest change in her usually impeccable form.

“Well, if you wish to discuss _your_ father, then by all means.” Her tone was dry, sarcastic—her usual defense mechanism against things she thought would hurt her. Merlin felt instantly protective of her; he wished he was in the position to silence Arthur, cut off his poisonous words. Instead, he could only stand behind him and glare at the back of his carefully groomed blond head.

Arthur either didn’t notice the barb, or chose to ignore it. “I am certain you have already investigated into this, but I shall repeat it, for your better understanding of the situation. Ours is the ruling family of Wales. We are in the line of succession for the throne, albeit far, and have Queen Victoria’s blood running through our veins. I have been my father’s successor my whole life, and only recently was I told about you, which is regrettable, but this is why I am here now, to learn more about you.”

“I will not ruin your name, my lord.” Morgana’s voice was so cold and bitter it sent shivers down Merlin’s spine.

There was a pause where the room fell deadly silent and Gwen glanced at Merlin in mute shock. Finally, Arthur asked, “Excuse me?” His voice had changed now to something that was laced with insecurity.

“I know what you must think of me. In your eyes, I am a mistake, a…” Morgana took a shuddering breath, “a _bastard_.” Gwen gasped audibly, and had to cover her mouth. Merlin watched as Arthur’s hand clenched around his napkin. “You do not have to worry, Your Highness. My true father is and always will be Gorlois Le Fay, not Uther, and that is how I shall introduce myself. No one shall find out about me. I will not tarnish the Pendragon crest. Honestly, coming all this way for such a simple matter seems wasteful to me.” Perhaps Arthur had given up on speaking; he was making no movement or denial that Merlin could see, his hand just unclenching and clenching around the napkin repeatedly to match his jaw. “Now if you will excuse me, I am quite sated, and much exhausted. Goodnight, my lord.”

Gwen snapped out of her horrified daze to pull back Morgana’s chair for her as she swept out of the dining room. Without even glancing back, the loyal maid raced after Morgana, no doubt to discuss the night’s proceedings and try to hold back the tide of Morgana’s sudden rage. Although Merlin had seen a glimpse of it the night before as she growled out Uther’s name, he never thought it would be directed at Arthur, at least not so soon. He supposed the prince _did_ wear on the nerves, especially on such short-tempered people like his lady.

Merlin was left alone in the dining room with Arthur, who did not say anything to him as Merlin quietly gathered the plates, the cutlery, marched them dutifully off to the kitchen to be washed. The kitchen maids had no doubt scurried off at hearing Morgana’s raised voice, knowing that Gwen and Merlin would pick up the pieces, and Lancelot alone stood at the sink collecting the dishes, wordlessly sending Merlin a raised eyebrow of concern. Merlin shook his head in response and returned to the dining room to collect the remaining silverware, and met Arthur’s eyes. Arthur was watching him, might have been all along.

Merlin did not smile, because he was on Morgana’s side in all this. He was in no mood to comfort Arthur, and she would not want him to. But Arthur’s gaze looked so sad and lost, and with a sincerity he had not shown previously. Merlin grew slightly nervous under the intense scrutiny and quickly looked back to his task, staring hard at the table as he gathered the forks and knives, Morgana’s uneaten slice of bundt cake.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly, and Merlin turned to face him again. Arthur’s voice matched his miserable expression. Merlin’s name sounded like a desperate call, a lifeboat in the middle of an ocean storm. But as Merlin stared back at Arthur, Arthur seemed to blink out of his melancholy, take a breath, and rise from his seat, disappearing soundlessly from the room.

Merlin could not figure out what Arthur had wanted from him.

For a moment, it was like his name had held all the importance in the world.

_Merlin._

~*~

The next day proved more challenging than the first. A rainstorm was soaking London in a never-ending waterfall. The windows would sometimes creak dangerously under the heavy drops. The entire house was filled with wet melodies against the rooftop. The weather did not help Morgana’s wretched mood.

“Can he not just leave?” she whined, her face pressed against a velvet-covered pillow, a marble-skinned foot peeking out from under the satin sheets. “I don’t _want_ him here.”

“I know,” Merlin replied, trying not to let his frustration at the situation show. “And I believe he knows as well. But going back to Cardiff in this weather would be too dangerous.”

“He knew the risk when he came here.” Morgana sounded like an infant, and looked like one too, sulking like she was, all wrapped up in her sheets.

Merlin was silent for a moment as he considered her. Finally he said, “Perhaps you should speak with Arthur. There’s nowhere for him to go now, and it may provide you with some closure.”

Morgana let out a very unladylike grunt. “No, thank you. I would much rather sleep through the day than converse with that arrogant fool.” She rolled over so that Merlin could not even see her face anymore, and the sigh he was attempting to hold in escaped. This upset Morgana more than he had anticipated. “If you’re so eager to please him, Merlin, why don’t _you_ spend the day with him? In fact, I’ll make that an order. Go entertain the prince.” Morgana’s hand poked out from the bedspread to wave him away, and disappeared again. “Good day.”

Merlin shook his head as he left Morgana’s chambers. Why did he ever open his mouth?

~*~

Walking into Arthur’s guest room was similar to walking into a crypt. The silence was all enveloping, the gloom stifling. Merlin automatically took a deep breath before stepping inside. Agravaine was unpacking and putting Arthur’s clothes away in the wardrobe, and he glared at Merlin as he walked by. Merlin had made an enemy out of Agravaine as soon as Arthur did not call him out on his earlier rudeness, in a way choosing Merlin over Agravaine. It made Merlin sort of happy, watching the snob of a footman sulking like that, but Arthur’s actions still bewildered him. Why had he seemed to favour Merlin for his boldness, instead of punishing him?

The prince in question was crouched in the niche around the windowsill, looking out of the glass panes as the rain soaked the courtyard. His expression was contemplative, and Merlin could almost see him wishing he could ride outside alone to gather his thoughts. For a moment, Merlin felt sorry for Arthur, who was clearly basking in his own misery. But then he remembered what Morgana said last night, and what Arthur was here for, and he lost all sense of sympathy.

“Your Highness,” said Merlin, doing the little half-bow he usually gave Morgana. Arthur was not deserving of so many formalities. Across the room, Agravaine snorted in disdain at the half-baked attempt at politeness.

Arthur turned in surprise, admonishing Merlin with a roving glance across his entire body, and then returned his gaze to the window. “Merlin. What do you want, then? Is the carriage ready? Should Agravaine repack?”

Merlin held back his disgust at the implication that Morgana was so awful she would force Arthur to travel in the middle of a storm. True, she had said that she would have this morning, but that was beside the point.

“No, sire. The Lady Morgana would never ask you to leave in such circumstances. I am here because I was given orders to accompany you for the day.” Merlin tried to keep his face completely straight, did not even blink when Arthur’s head whipped around in surprise and Agravaine snorted again.

“ _You’re_ accompanying me? What sort of plans are these?” Arthur spat, and he looked genuinely confused as he looked Merlin over again and stood from the windowsill.

“In my opinion? Ridiculous plans simply to punish me for my brashness toward Morgana this morning.” Merlin kept his voice monotone, and Arthur blinked at him as if he was the most bizarre creature he had ever seen.

“I see. So you’re like this with everyone, not just myself?” Arthur was starting to smile again, in that slow way he had that had nuances of deviousness.

“No. I did not mean to upset her. You bring the true devil out of me.”

“How dare you compare the prince to Satan!” gasped Agravaine, his cheeks turning more purple than red in fury, and Merlin had to refrain from rolling his eyes are Arthur held up a hand to quiet him.

“If you wish me to, I can go. I would not interfere with your…princely business.” Merlin glanced at the window, felt the grim setting around him suffocate him a little.

“No, no. If this is a punishment, how could I refuse? Obedience is important in a servant, especially a young butler like yourself.” Arthur grinned like a cat with a squealing mouse under its paw. Merlin promptly felt a wave of nausea at the sadism he would likely have to endure. “Now, what is there to do in this house?” Arthur clapped his hands, suddenly rejuvenated, his tired resignation transferring to Merlin, whose shoulders slumped, posture slipping completely.

“I usually work and supervise the household during the day…” Arthur snorted, like even the idea of working was appalling. “But,” Merlin continued, gritting his teeth, “the library is usually where Lady Morgana prefers to stay when the weather is disagreeable. I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking.”

“The library?” Arthur’s brow creased, and for a moment Merlin worried that Arthur did not enjoy recreational reading like Morgana, that he would disagree and Merlin would find himself a subject of torture for the afternoon. But then Arthur smiled in a deceptively innocent way and said, “That sounds lovely.”

~*~

The library was a musty, sweet-smelling room that always gave Merlin goose-bumps, his skin tingling with the warm memories of sitting with Morgana in here, doing nothing but getting her tea and giving her silent company as she flipped through book after book, her thirst for knowledge unquenchable.

In the dim light streaming through the windows, Merlin watched Arthur’s features as the prince’s fingers skimmed over the titles on the shelves he passed. The room was small, but there was hardly room for the desk and two chairs in the middle with the book stacks and full shelves.

“An impressive collection,” Arthur said in an almost-whisper, respecting the peace of the library.

Merlin nodded quietly in agreement. If Arthur was anything like Morgana, he would find a book to keep him busy and read quietly for hours, leaving Merlin to twiddle his thumbs and daydream. Merlin knew his hopes were relying on a nonexistent relation, but he hoped anyway.

“Ah.” Arthur pulled out a thick, red tome, dust motes erupting into the air, falling over him as he smiled. “Dickens. Have you ever read him, Merlin?”

Merlin hesitated, then shook his head.

Arthur stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. “ _No_? Charles Dickens is the best author of our time!”

Highbrow prat. “I’ve never read him because I’ve never read anyone.” Merlin took a breath, straightened his back. “I cannot read.”

A silence of a different kind fell over the small room, one that caused Merlin to shiver and his worries to grow. When Arthur spoke again, his voice was softer.

“You are a butler, yet you cannot read?” Merlin examined Arthur carefully, but could recognize no insult or criticism, only curiosity, perhaps some sympathy. It allowed him to relax, his shoulders to slump back to their natural position.

“Morgana was convinced she could teach me, but…” Merlin sighed, shrugged his shoulders in faux casualty, “we’re both very busy.”

Arthur nodded, his gloved fingers thumbing gently at the pages of the book in his hand, a reflexive twitch as he considered Merlin. “A pity,” he finally said. “Literature adds a whole new perspective to life.”

Merlin had to work very hard to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m sure. But what’s done is done.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked over Merlin one more time before he strode over to the sitting area and planted himself on top of the desk instead of in a chair, which was not very prince-like at all, in Merlin’s opinion. Arthur swung his feet before resting one on a chair-backing, and then, as he flipped open the cover of the book, met Merlin’s eyes again.

“Well, I’m afraid I also do not have the time required to teach you. However, I could…” There was a moment of hesitation where a slight rosiness came over Arthur’s cheeks, but he broke from it quickly. “I could read to you, if you’d like.”

Merlin stared at him, and suddenly his heartbeat felt very loud in the small room, and he could hear Arthur and his breathing overlapping each other, every rustle, every twitch, too overwhelming. It was as if the whole world had turned upside down, and Merlin could sense every detail. Arthur’s beauty seemed sharp at that moment, and Merlin wondered what was happening to him to take notice of such a thing.

Arthur mistook Merlin’s awe for disinterest. “I…just thought it would be quite boring for you, sitting here as I read,” he said quickly. “Perhaps it was rude of me to assume…”

“No,” said Merlin, and when he realized it sounded like a rejection, he blundered on, “I mean, I would love…I would enjoy that. You reading to me.” Arthur’s eyes were very blue and Merlin was very flustered. “I was ordered to attend to you, in any case. And there’s little else to do.” He blinked down at the floor as he tried to avoid Arthur’s magnetic gaze.

“Well, come on then,” said Arthur, and he pulled the chair that his foot was not perched on in Merlin’s direction. Merlin stumbled to sit down, feeling suddenly very clumsy and out of sorts, and he willed his fingers to stop their nervous twitching. Arthur smiled at the book cover, and then at Merlin, before explaining, “This story is called Oliver Twist. It’s one of my favourites.”

Something about Arthur’s enthusiasm over literature was endearing, when it wasn’t pompous. The rain fell steadily against the windows, making gentle background noise to Arthur’s voice that became loud and steady as his tongue adapted to the words.

“Treats of the place where Oliver Twist was born, and of the circumstances attending his birth…”

Arthur’s voice was warm, pronounced, and very princely, although his stance was anything but. Merlin pulled his chair in closer to him, eager to hear, images forming in his head when he closed his eyes. The peacefulness of his surroundings were enough to cause him to fall asleep, if it weren’t for his curiosity.

When Arthur’s stream of words came to—in Merlin’s opinion—a rather abrupt stop, Merlin’s eyes snapped open and he let out an impatient grunt.

“Go on,” he said. It disturbed him to see Arthur closing the book over his thumb.

“That’s the end of the chapter,” Arthur said, sounding somewhat reluctant.

“Then read the next one.” Merlin rested his chin on top of his folded arms and looked up at Arthur expectantly. The prince frowned, but his eyes were twinkling.

“You’re very bossy for a servant,” he said finally, releasing an amused-sounding huff.

“And you’re very rude for a prince,” Merlin replied nonchalantly.

Arthur still did not reopen the book. “You need to learn how to ask for things nicely.”

Merlin took a moment to consider that, his mouth opening to deliver another sharp witticism, but what came out instead was, “No one’s ever read to me before.”

Arthur met his eyes, and for the few seconds that passed between them, Merlin felt like there was no status separating them—that they were just two men alone in a room together, trying to figure out how to get along. And it caused something warm to burst inside of him.

Arthur let out an obviously staged, melodramatic sigh and flipped the book open again.

Merlin smiled and closed his eyes.

~*~

It was late at night, and Morgana, Arthur, and most of the staff were in bed. Merlin wished Morgause a goodnight as she put away the list of chores they had to finish tomorrow. Morgause could read and write, which was helpful to Merlin’s running of the household, even though his memory was impeccable.

As he walked to his own small quarters, looking forward to the rest and time to sort out his thoughts, a voice interrupted him.

“Merlin!” Gwen hissed as she sprinted down the corridor to get to him. Merlin smiled at her, even though he could feel the fatigue settling deep down in his bones. He didn’t want Gwen to see his exhaustion or his bewilderment over the day’s events.

Gwen smiled back at him, the strand of dark curly hair that escaped from her bun falling into her eyes. But then her expression turned very serious.

“So you spent the day with Prince Arthur.” It was not a question. Everyone in Maison du Fay knew what everyone else was doing all the time. Merlin nodded silently in response, his own expression solemn. “And how was that? I know you two aren’t on very good terms.”

Merlin thought carefully about what to say, then shrugged. “I suppose it could’ve been worse,” he responded, but his heart felt heavy with lying, because he had actually quite enjoyed himself, all things considered.

“Oh? Is it true that he ordered you to watch him read in the library all afternoon?” Gwen sounded completely unimpressed. Merlin and Arthur’s reading session had gone on much longer than probably intended, Arthur finally realizing that he should never stop at the end of a chapter, because it upset the impatient Merlin. He had stopped midway through a sentence when the dinner bell had sounded, and Agravaine promptly burst in to interrupt them. It occurred to Merlin that that was it would have looked like, Arthur with an open book, and Merlin just sitting, waiting.

With Morgana, she would only have Merlin stay for an hour or less, and only if he wanted to. In Maison du Fay, everyone was always busy with something. Spending a whole day reading—and making a servant linger to simply supervise—was considered a huge waste of time, and Merlin realized that to Gwen, this seemed like another injustice, one more occurrence to prove that Arthur was an unwanted outsider.

At the same moment, Merlin realized he did not want to tell her what he and Arthur had really been doing. In the quiet of the library, there was an intimacy that could not be explained, and was not to be talked about. Merlin was starting to understand Arthur’s affection for literature, and even if he never truly could, he at least respected it. Something about the words, “Prince Arthur read to me,” sent tingles down his spine and made his tongue feel like wood.

“So he did,” he finally replied, his eyelids heavy with the falsehood. “He’s a right prat, Gwen.” At least _that_ wasn’t a lie.

“Yes. Well, he should be gone by tomorrow, and everything will return to some semblance of normality. My schedule has been all over the place, and with Morgana refusing to leave her room…” She sighed and shook her head in defeat.

“Is there something I can do? To lessen the burden?” Remembering Morgana’s state over Arthur’s arrival brought a feeling of guilt and betrayal to him that he had never felt before.

“Oh, no, Merlin, don’t fret. Keeping the prince entertained is punishment enough.” Gwen shook her head sympathetically and touched his shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight,” Merlin responded when she was already halfway down the hall. His thoughts were muddled, a confusing state of opposing thoughts. But one above all kept coming to his mind, before he finally had to admit to it:

He hoped it would rain tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> So, first off, I have no idea what I'm doing. I had fun researching the setting of high-class Victorian London, but this is not to be treated as historical fiction. _Ever._ But here are some details which should be explained:
> 
> \- The butler was (and still is, in some ridiculously rich cases) the most important servant in the household, essentially second to only the actual landlord or landlady. They supervised the entire running of the house, and dealt with the most important tasks along with the menial, ranging from finances and groundskeeping to waiting on people and setting tables. There is only ever one butler per household, and usually they are a man that has had years and years of experience in service. Arthur's surprise at Merlin being the butler is because he is a young man, when usually butlers are in their forties or older. Also, Merlin's incapability to read is unusual for butlers, as they were trained to serve in every possible way, including writing letters.
> 
> \- Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught and Strathearn, was an actual person in the Victorian Era. Except instead of being in the line of royalty in some obscure household, he was the seventh child of Queen Victoria. He served in the British Army and also as the Governor General of Canada.
> 
> \- Morgana is actually in an unusual position, because women in the Victorian Era were usually not in charge of large estates, and not unmarried after so long. The only way to be so powerful as a woman, in reality, was to marry a wealthy man and have him die, or be unmarried and inherit the wealth after both parents died.
> 
> \- The lowest of status between Merlin, Gwen, and Lancelot is actually Lancelot. Although some chefs were of higher esteem than others, they did little but run the kitchens. Usually, the chef was a woman. Gwen is the first maid, which means she waits personally on Morgana 24/7. First maids were right under butlers in status. The lowest of the low in the household would be Will and Sefa, stable hand and kitchen maid. They just got ordered around by everyone.
> 
> \- Charles Dickens was by far the most successful author of the time. He was popular even _before_ he died (lucky bastard) and his stories were published in installations for the middle and high class to enjoy. For even a prince to enjoy something like Oliver Twist was not altogether unusual.
> 
> And that's about all I'm going to babble about that's remotely worth mentioning. So, thanks for reading! More chapters to come.


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